Chapter 33
The Impatience
Ian
“When can I have her again?” Killian asks the next day when he comes barging into my office in the afternoon. He’s still wearing his dark cashmere trench coat, the collar turned up against the cold outside.
I lean back in my office chair, folding my hands over my stomach.
“When?” he demands, all but ripping open the buttons of his coat, staring me down.
“No more than once a week. Tops.”
He rakes a hand through his slicked-back hair, leaving a strand out of place. “Are you kidding me? You have her every night.”
My jaw tightens. Seeing Jenna curled up on the couch and pulling in on herself last night made me second-guess this arrangement—again.
Today she seems to have recovered well, appearing calm, maybe even more so than usual, but I’ll have to wait another few days to be sure.
Subdrop can come as a delayed reaction days after a scene.
And one short scene really isn’t enough to tell if only getting aftercare from me will be enough.
“If you promise to give her the aftercare she needs, you can have her sooner.”
“Fuck that.” He throws his jacket on a recliner and starts pacing the room. “She’s not getting any of that fucking shit from me.”
As much as I want Killian to get comfortable with aftercare, I’m relieved by his reaction.
I’m not ready to give Jenna up for more than one night a week.
But I’ll admit, I want to escalate things, and not for noble reasons.
Teasing her about shoving my cock into her ass last night was as much torture for me as it was for her.
I wasn’t joking when I said I’d suffer right alongside her.
Every day I’m around her, it gets harder to hold back.
It’s tempting to just take her ass even though I promised Killian he’d be the one to break her in. But if he found out, it’d only feed his belief that I’m keeping her from him. And while some days I want to do exactly that, it’s not the outcome I truly want.
I could abandon my plan to keep her pussy untouched, but I hate that idea as well. Maybe I’ve got a masochistic streak, or maybe it’s just that the idea of her being a secondhand virgin turns me on more than it should. Either way, it only proves the first point.
“How much time will I have?” Killian demands, breaking me from my thoughts.
He stops pacing, and I feel him glaring at me as I take my time considering.
“Do not say thirty minutes,” he says, voice sharp with impatience.
I lift my gaze, finding his expression wide with a rare sort of honest urgency.
“I can’t do this anymore. I need her. I’ve tried to be patient—to assure you that I can keep control.
But I’m spiraling over here.” Wide-eyed, he stares at me for a minute to let it all sink in.
Then an abrupt turn on his heel sets him pacing again.
“Shit!” He rakes his hand through his hair repeatedly.
“She fucking scares me.” He pauses again, fisting his hand in his inch-long hair, staring off to the side in disbelief.
“That’s about the stupidest fucking thing I could say,” he mutters, then trudges toward the door, about to leave.
I hate that he feels he can’t be honest with me out of fear that I’ll hold Jenna from him. And even though he’s barely in control, his self-awareness is a good sign.
That’s why I say, “Carte blanche,” just as he grabs the door. “In one week, you’ll have her again. Carte blanche.”
His eyes are wide with surprise when he turns to me, and I’m more than a little surprised myself.
Not just at myself for allowing him to have her without restrictions so soon, but at him as well—for opening up like this, showing a flicker of vulnerability, being blatantly honest about what she does to him.
It makes me want to give him a chance to prove himself.
“Carte blanche?” he parrots, unable to believe what I just said.
“No permanent marks and nothing I can’t mend with regular aftercare.”
“Okay.”
“I’m serious, Killian. No crossing the lines, or this thing is over—for good.”
“Okay,” he repeats, the relief palpable in his long exhale.
With a final nod, he leaves and shuts the door behind him. I lean my head back and draw a not-so-relieved breath. I can’t believe what I just agreed to.
Once again, I’m questioning my decisions, and my uncertainty nags at me. It feels like I’m driving a car that’s skidding out of control, gripping the wheel and praying that I’m spinning it in the right direction.
The need to regain control burns under my skin, and it makes me want to go have my sadistic way with Jenna.
Dominating a woman has always grounded me—brought order to the chaos.
But with her, it’s more than that. I don’t just want to dominate her.
I want to make her cry—desperate tears and harrowing screams. I want to shove her into the dirt at my feet.
Spit and piss on her. Strip away all dignity and reduce her to a sniffling, broken mess.
All the while, I want to stroke her pretty hair and whisper soothing words—comfort her for the despicable things I’m doing.
With a grunt, I reach down to adjust my hard length that’s straining uncomfortably against my pants.
I feel like I’m going way too hard on her all the time, yet I’m barely doing half the things I want to do to her.
I wonder if she’ll ever be able to take the full brunt of my desire.
And I wonder if I can handle the waiting it will take to get there.
Killian is not the only one here who is losing control in the face of Jenna’s open submission.
But as much as I want to selfishly take and sate my own desires, his needs come first. I’ll hold back until she’s ready—if she ever will be.